


Patience

by Demibel



Series: The Viking Family [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, And I have sad headcanons, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff with a dash of porn and angst, In which we learn more about Lagertha and Ragnar, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lagertha visits a midwife and we learn a little bit more about her past. She is grateful for her boys' company later that evening, and they need to show her how much she is loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen headfirst into this fandom and this family, and I can't wait to finish out this series. I'm not sure how long it will be, but it's been amazing to write.

It had been a little over five months since that night by the fire, five months since Lagertha told them of her suspicions, and five months since she had been completely correct. It did not surprise any of them when she cast aside her clothes in favor for ones that were slightly larger, as her body now showed signs of growing another life. It was amazing to Athelstan, to wake up and feel a firm bump where flat, hard, muscle used to be. Sometimes he would rise earlier than the two of them and he would just look in awe at her, her face peaceful in sleep, and her skin glowing with the life that she gave off. Sometimes, the former monk would smile and lean down to lay his head gently on her stomach, careful not to wake either of his sleeping warriors, and he would lay there, just listening to the sound of her breath, and imagine the child once it had been born. It was a never ending source of wonder for him.

 

She visited with a midwife eventually, the woman in the village that was present for almost all the births of all the women who lived there. She had been present at Bjorn’s and Gyda’s, and Lagertha trusted her. The older woman ran her hands over her stomach, speaking in languages only the gods could hear, and checked between Lagertha’s legs. Her patient was stone faced through the whole examination, but in truth, she never got used to this. Not even after five times. Because what Athelstan does not know, what they have not told him, is the Bjorn was not her first born child.

 

She had seen this midwife three times before. The first two times, it was when she was in pain, white hot searing pain radiating from her abdomen, and rushing through her legs. Those two times would be the first and last times she cried from the pain of it. She buried the first two without Ragnar’s knowledge, without him even knowing she was expecting. The third, she had carried nearly to term, and Ragnar had been thrilled to be a father. But the child was impatient, and he came too early. They had burned Birgir together, with the toys and clothes that had already been made in anticipation. She cried while she held to Ragnar, and even he shed a tear with her for his first lost son.

 

They had believed children were an impossible dream for some time after that. They had not even wanted to try for another, and found excuses to stay clothed in bed for so many nights. It had been after a raid, of all things that they even came together once again.  Lagertha had been wounded when defending Rollo, a spear run through the meat of her shoulder and Ragnar had turned just to see her fall. The rest of the battle he fought with a rage few had ever seen, and fewer would see again. When the battle was won, and the smoke had cleared, the warrior found his wife, shaken and broken, but alive and smiling with the thrill of battle. He could not keep his hands off her that night, and was unusually tender with her, kissing the bandages on her shoulder while murmuring, “My love. Never frighten me like that again.” She bit back her teasing, a warrior like him, frightened? And she merely promised him she wouldn’t, never again, as she pulled him to her. They made love for hours that night, well into the next morning, starved for the touch they had abstained from for so long. When she discovered that she was pregnant, they both prayed, and clung to the hope that their latest attempt to become a family would not end in a funeral pyre.

 

A sharp pinch to her inner thigh brought her attention back to the midwife, who was now staring at her from between her legs. The older woman looked at her with a knowing smile and wiped her hands on her skirts after she pulled Lagertha’s skirt down. “It is growing well. Positioned nicely. Strong, this one.” She spoke simply, knowing that the shield-maiden would appreciate it. “You should have no trouble. Just like with Gyda. Is she doing well?” Lagertha smiled warmly, her pride in her children one of the only things that could break her stone-cold expression. “She is training with Bjorn these days. Ragnar takes them both to the fields, and has them fight each other with the wooden staffs he and Rollo used when they were children.” The midwife smiled and nodded. “Good. She will be strong, like her mother.” She patted the younger woman’s shoulder. “Do not worry, Lothbrokk. All will be well this time, just as the last two. Go home to your husband and your western priest. Let them try to dote on you and show them that what a woman’s strength will do. I will see to you closer to the date. In three moons, you should expect it.”

 

She nodded and thanked the woman, eager to get home. Athelstan was waiting for her, as he usually was these days while Ragnar took the children. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his offer to make her something, or fetch some water, or anything. He’s reverted back to his slave mannerisms, eager to give and please, doting on her as if she was a child. He didn’t even know of her concerns, of the first three children that are long dead and gone. So, while Ragnar was gone, she allowed her priest to care for her. They sat at her loom and she worked as he sat behind her, reading from his gospel in his native tongue, pausing occasionally to kiss the back of her neck or run his fingers across her stomach. She won’t ever admit it, but she savors this. Hearing the words she is only beginning to understand, having a soft touch against something she is so concerned for, she finds herself enjoying it more than she had thought she would have.

 

She leaned into his touch absently, listening to his voice as she worked the threads. To him, it was another small miracle, how her fingers, which were so used to holding a blade and shield, could also create something so beautiful so easily. He commented on it, pressing his lips to the back of her neck after her brushed her hair away. She chuckled, lowering her head to allow him access. “You find such marvels in the smallest of things, Priest. I fear I’ll never tire of it.” He smiled warmly, lips still pressed against the pale skin of her neck, fair with the lack of exposure it got under her thick hair. “I will be sure to not change then.” Because he loves the woman, he truly does. What had started out as a slave’s dependence on her for shelter and protection, had turned to friendship, which in turn grew into a genuine love for this woman and her husband, and this family, and now he was truly a part of it.

 

“Good news?” Ragnar asked, walking in to see his lovers sitting serene. He had sent the children off with Floki, who had promised to teach them the art of carving a mast, which to a twelve and ten year old was an exciting day indeed. Lagertha grinned and nodded, gesturing to her husband to join them. She played with his braid, pulling it over his shoulder and tugging him into a kiss as Athelstan looked on fondly, setting his precious, dog-eared book of gospel to the side. “Yes, tell us what the midwife said, I almost forgot to ask.” He encouraged her to speak, settling to sit with her between his legs, one hand gripping Ragnar’s and the other splayed out across her expanding belly.

 

“All good news. She said the child grows healthy and strong. And that it will be without trouble, like Gyda and Bjorn.” She shared a look with Ragnar who said nothing, but nodded. “Good.” He added gruffly, taking her hand from the loom and holding it against his chest. He had long said that she held his heart, and now she could feel it beat under her palm, and she could feel Athelstan’s breath at her back, and she knew of her child growing under her other hand, and she was content. And the Ragnar’s lips her brushing kisses against her fingertips, and Athelstan’s lips had found purchase on the back of her neck again, and the child made her body surge with sensation. She found that her skin was ever the more sensitive when she was with child, a fact that Ragnar too seemed to recall, and must have told Athelstan, with the attention they were both paying attention to her now.

 

They barely made it into their bedchambers, shedding clothes as they went, falling onto their bed in a messy tangle of long hair and limbs, and warm, flushed skin. “How would you have us my love?” Ragnar growled, pulling Lagertha on top of him. Athelstan kneeled to the side, pressing kisses down her arm and chest, pausing at intervals to suck or bite a gentle bruise, still getting used to the taste of a woman. “I would have Athelstan’s mouth, while you had him beneath you.” She responded. Though it was a suggestion, a request, it carried as much weight to them as an order. Ragnar moved to lay her down, pressing kisses to each inch of her body and pulled Athelstan to rest between her legs.

 

The former monk smiled fondly and moved easily, crawling down her body, murmuring against her skin. “So beautiful, so good, so loved.” He pressed a long kiss against her growing belly, before dipping his lower, licking a line down to her center. The hitch in her breath was heavenly when he pressed the flat of his tongue against the small nub he had come to learn was so beautifully sensitive. He gave her a few experimental flicks, working her into a frustration that left her squirming and moaning in want. Ragnar watched for some time, smiling wickedly as he prepared himself, slicking his fingers with the oil they kept near the side of their bed now. With a wild look, pupils blown wide, Lagertha gasped out, “Ragnar, please.” Begging him to make their priest touch her, lick her, something fucking more. He smiled “Yes, my love.” And he leaned down to press a finger into Athelstan, causing him to writhe and work her harder. Her head fell back as he took her between his lips and sucked gently, flicking his tongue and even gently grazing his teeth against her, like he had discovered she liked.

 

Ragnar pumped his fingers quickly, no longer the first-time gentle lover he had been when Athelstan was still so naïve in the ways of pleasure. A second and third finger were added, until Athelstan was shaking with lust, and his cock was hard, rubbing against the furs of their bed. When Ragnar’s fingers were removed, and his cock replaced them, the former monk whimpered, releasing Lagertha for the briefest of moments before she ran her fingers through his hair and shoved his face back against her.  He moaned with her need as Raganr began to move, striking against the spot he knew made the man moan. Athelstan moved to run his fingers along Lagertha’s chest, while his other hand went to her core. At a hard thrust from Ragnar, he slid two fingers into her slick warmth, making her gasp and groan suddenly.

 

As Ragnar moved, as did Athelstan, so the larger man set the pace for which the smaller moved his fingers, working the woman into a frenzy. She grasped the furs they laid on and tugged at Athelstan’s hair, and Ragnar swore he had never seen a more beautiful sight as he fucked them both. His hand moved from Athelstan’s hip to wrap around his cock, and from the sound of his muffled moans and Lagertha’s whining, it worked well. He stroked the smaller man in time to is thrusts until he felt his climax sneaking up behind him. “My loves.” He warned, his voice desperate and husky.

 

“Come for us love.” Lagertha gasped out, watching him as Athelstan crooked his fingers inside her and her legs began to shake. Ragnar could not help but to tumble off that edge, spilling into Athelstan, slumping over his back as he continued his ministrations on the former monk’s cock. After a moment, Lagertha was screaming through her own climax, her muscles clenching around Athelstan’s fingers, as he moaned against her, following her with his own release, coming over Ragnar’s hand and into their furs.

 

A breath later, he shifted, so that he could lay his head on her stomach, his breathing heavy. She had a hand thrown over her eyes, and Ragnar was still shaking with the force of his orgasm. They were a sight of lust well spent. Ragnar was the first to move, as he normally did, rolling off Athelstan to lay beside them. He rested on his side to run his hand down the man’s back and Lagertha’s side. “So beautiful.” He murmured, and it was clear he was talking about both of them.

 

Athelstan was next, shifting to lay on Lagertha’s other side, pressing against her and pushing her into Ragnar’s arms. He loved this, having the woman he loved between the two men who she loved the best. She would be lying if she said that she did not love it too. She did enjoy sandwiching the priest between them, but to be the center of attention, to center of their warmth, she enjoyed it terribly. Athelstan kept his hand resting over her wide belly, and Ragnar kept his hand over the scar on her shoulder and they were the epitome of a warm family.

 

Suddenly, Athelstan gasped and drew his hand away. Ragnar peeked over his wife’s head, and Lagertha turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” She asked gruffly and the smaller man blinked before placing his hand over her stomach again. “It moved. The child…Is that…Does it do that?” Her laughter reassured him that it was normal, but she responded kindly. “It has been moving for some time, just not enough for you to feel. It has grown enough know that you can feel it.” Ragnar smiled fondly and pressed his own hand to the side of her belly, laughing as he too felt the faint fluttering of the baby inside. “A strong child. Good.” And he relaxed, laying back down with soft smile lingering. Athelstan stayed blinking for a moment before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Lagertha’s lips and buried his nose in her hair, settling in to sleep.

 

Lagertha was the last to fall asleep that night, but she was lucky, because she was able to feel her child moving all night. When she finally did fall into a sound rest, she wore a faint smile, imagining the months to come.


End file.
